


How Am I Supposed to Hold It?

by Innin



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Inspired by Fanfiction, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-17 21:58:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10603095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Innin/pseuds/Innin
Summary: Reynir seeks out Onni to explain his lie, and things progress - or, what if Reynir hadn't left at the end ofSmall Crime?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IdleLeaves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdleLeaves/gifts).
  * Inspired by [One For the Books](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10371336) by [IdleLeaves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdleLeaves/pseuds/IdleLeaves). 



"I... I think I'll go now," Reynir says, and takes two steps back. The rain falls harder, and the drops that burst on his skin sting. He cannot be sure - the rain on the lake and trees sounds different than the rain on the mountainside in Iceland - but thinks that up beyond it there is a growl of thunder, faint and hard to hear. 

The water-lilies bob on the surface of the lake in a sudden gust of cold wind. If anything, their buds have curled tighter, like fists. 

"Onni, is... " Reynir begins, dividing his attention between the dimming sky and Onni's figure. Onni seems lost - not lost in thought, just lost, sitting slack with his eyes half-lidded and staring into some indistinct middle distance. 

He remembers, too well, the last time he went ahead and touched Onni - not knowing it was him, of course - and that makes him think that touching Onni is the dumbest thing he could possibly do, but the weather makes him wary. Thunderstorms are rare in Iceland, and this isn't even the waking world, and by now he's figured out that dreams respond to the emotions of their owners, but Onni… doesn't look like a thunderstorm. 

He swallows thickly, wipes at the water that's dripped into his eyes and lays a hand on Onni's shoulder, just to rouse him. There are no ill thoughts in the touch at all. Cowardly ones, maybe.

He stands a moment, telling himself to leave, retrace his muddy steps to the shore. 

Next he knows, the world spins. The back of his head collides with the - rock wall? - no, rock surface - of Onni's shelter, and there's a crackling ache in his shoulder-bones where Onni's fists glow electric blue with magic and pin him down. 

Onni could immolate him if he wanted. Sparks shake loose from Onni's grasp and sizzle over the skin of Reynir's throat.

And weirdly, oddly, stupidly - _gods_ , what is _wrong_ with him?! - staring up at Onni and his barely-kept composure no longer scares Reynir. It does something else entirely, it makes him reach up in turn and grasp the lengths of Onni's hair and pull down and then it's noses and lips and teeth colliding and in short order Onni pants breaths sharp with ozone into Reynir's open mouth. 

Onni's knees come to rest on either side of Reynir's waist and he grinds down with all his bulk, all taking, but Reynir gives willingly, straining against the layers of fabric between them. Their hands tangle as they fumble around clasps and ties and buttons, and the energy burns through Reynir's gloves, but he doesn't let go. Maybe he's a glutton for punishment, or something, he thinks as his teeth scratch down the column of Onni's throat to bite at the hollow at the bottom of it, and Onni swallows against his mouth, and catches himself.

The light in Onni's Haven is a pale grey-gold through the rain now, suffusing along the edges of the thunderheads choking the sky, and the single word he says dims the sound of falling water that's so loud in Reynir's ears. Onni's clothes are dishevelled and the edge of his hip shows where his tunic rode up. 

"Stop," Onni says, and Reynir obeys, and stills. The surface of the lake shivers and dances in raindrops and a million concentric circles widening. "I do not forgive you," Onni says. "It's not alright. Tuuri -" and he turns his head aside. "Coming here was a mistake. Do not come again unless -" the conversation loops back to an earlier part, " - unless she cannot inform me herself. If - if the radio breaks." 

But Onni stays where he is, coiled like a spring, or a fist, or the buds of his lilies, and Reynir can feel the physical evidence of Onni's need between their bodies. He isn't any better, and he wouldn't even mind if Onni used him, facedown on the rock, or kneeling, or stretched to the tip of his toes with Onni's hands trapping his wrists above his head against the rock face, like that very first encounter, and he's about to offer all of it, any of it. He owes it, he thinks. And Onni needs, desperately. 

Maybe, he thinks stupidly, it could put things right between them again, but sex isn't, hasn't ever, been anything more than a temporary measure if it's used for making amends, or trying to. And still he hopes, that maybe if they do this one time after the other, it'll be good enough, worth enough to fix his lie, or at least make up for it in the long run. 

He resists the impulse to apologize, over and over and over again. He reaches out instead, to stroke touches from Onni's hip over his stomach, and Onni's skin twitches under his fingers. When he looks up, Onni still has his head averted, his mouth tight. 

"I know what you are doing," he says, quiet and dispirited. If there is any thunder left in his voice, it's low and far away, and he doesn't tell Reynir to stop again. The glow of magic has faded from Onni's hands. When Reynir hesitates, his fingers stuttering, Onni finally yields, reaching out in turn. 

Even if, Reynir thinks as Onni pushes their clothes out of the way and brings them together, pumping his hand up and down their lengths between their bodies, and Reynir's thoughts haze over, all the world really is a terrible place, or things go from bad to worse - they'll have this to come back to.

The rain, at least, has stopped.

**Author's Note:**

> Based entirely on IdleLeaves' fic. The AU turn came up in discussion, the plotbunnies bit, and things went from there. The title is from Damien Rice's "9 Crimes".


End file.
